Dark Days (The Happy Birthday Remix)
by vanrigsby
Summary: Once upon a time, birthdays in their family were a happy time, full of love and laughter. Now, they're black; dark. They hate to watch him like this.


**A/N: Written for the Remixathon on Paint It Red. Inspired by kathiann's story, Happy Birthday. This story would possibly fit better if you read that one too. Literally a remix of her story. Kind of a companion piece, if you want to think of it like that. I had a ton of fun writing this, so enjoy. Hope I did an okay job.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, you know that. The original plotline belongs to kathiann - thanks for letting me mess around with your writing.**

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The attic was dark, dusty and smelt kind of funny. Charlotte Jane told her mother so.

"Darling," Angela smoothed down Charlotte's hair with a soft smile. "I know, but your dad obviously likes it here, so we'll stay with him."

Charlotte nodded with a deep sigh, biting back further complaints, and readjusted her party hat against her blonde waves. Hell, if her dad wasn't going to celebrate her birthday, at least she was.

Angela still insisted that they celebrate their birthdays, and Charlotte complied. But Patrick seemed to want to simply sit in the darkness and the silence. Her mother called it his 'Dark Day', and she gave the day they were taken away the same name.

The two women sat in silence for a moment. Charlotte was perched on the edge of the table, her legs folded up underneath her, and Angela stood beside her. It was always tough to watch Patrick torture himself around this time every year. When they had all been on the same plane, before that monster tore their tiny family apart, they'd all celebrated together. It was a wonderful, happy, bright time of year. But now, they'd only succeeded in spending their day with him, watching the dark tendrils of grief and gloom curl around him and drag him into the abyss, and knowing there was nothing they could do about it. Every year it got worse, but they both knew that this year was the hardest so far. As this thought flitted across her mind, Charlotte fiddled with the badge that her mother had pinned to her chest. In bright, silver, sparkling writing it proclaimed, '_Happy Sweet 16!'_

"Do you think he could hear us?" her voice, although soft, shattered the silence of the attic.

"No sweetheart," came her mothers reply as she walked over to her husband. "Unfortunately not," Angela placed on hand gently on the side of Patrick's face, waiting for a reaction that never came.

The sound of the metal door screeching against the floor jarred them both from their thoughts. Charlotte and Angela both spun around, but Patrick didn't even open his eyes.

Charlotte wasn't surprised to see the Asian agent standing in the open space. It was only a matter of time before one of her dad's team came looking for him. Admittedly, she'd thought it would have been the petite brunette that her father seemed to enjoy annoying.

It was the first year that he'd stayed in Sacramento, and that fact did not go unnoticed. Both Angela and Charlotte had realized that Patrick hadn't been able to muster up the energy, the courage, to make the drive down to their old home. So instead, he had chosen to wallow in the dingy old attic, far enough away from everyone for peace and silence, but still close enough for them to be a comfort.

Charlotte caught the tail end of Cho's speech before he turned to leave. "… prove that Red John didn't win that night." And with that, he was gone. With him left his navy-blue aura. Even after ten years, she was still learning what all the different colours meant. Cho's was a dark navy, telling Charlotte that whilst he had been through rough patches in his life that had made him hard and distant, there was bits in him that were still good. It wasn't completely black. And he was as loyal as anything. Charlotte liked seeing that he always had her dad's back.

The next person to arrive at the attic door was Van Pelt. Charlotte knew it was her because she was the only member of the team that would have knocked before opening it. When Patrick didn't answer, the door tentatively slid open a few inches.

"Jane?" her melodic voice sliced through the darkness.

The door opened a few more inches as the redhead stepped through the door. Charlotte liked Van Pelt; she was sweet, kind and had a good heart. Her aura was pink, like the colour of fairy floss, and it showed just how sweet and trusting Van Pelt was. But it had a tinge of darkness. Close to her chest, it darkened to a colour somewhere in the realm between red and black. Charlotte could see how angry, hurt, betrayed she was. But her overall character was kind, strong. Now, it was dimmed, as Charlotte realized it did when she was feeling timid or scared.

"Jane, are you okay?"

Patrick did not answer.

"Well, if you ever need to talk, you know we're all here for you. We're your friends. You know we've all lost people too."

And then, as if she were a gentle puff of smoke, Van Pelt was gone. The door shut, and inky blackness fell upon the Janes once more.

Neither of them was sure how long had passed before the door opened again. This time, Charlotte knew whom it was before they even stepped inside. The brunette's aura projected far away from her, like her fiery personality. It was green with flecks of red, revealing her down-to-earth nature, but at the same time showing her dangerous streak. Lisbon's was Charlotte's favourite aura, because of its beautiful mix of swirling colours and the emotion behind it.

"Jane," her voice was stronger, surer than Van Pelt's. This time, when his name was spoken, it was not a question, but a demand, a call to attention.

Charlotte watched Lisbon's aura flicker and shift as she continued her rant. It shifted from the colour of rage, to concern, to love and back again as words spilled from Lisbon's lips. Charlotte smiled a little, wondering if Lisbon's words would have any effect on her father.

They didn't. He remained motionless, not even his eyelids opening.

"Jane, I know you're upset. I know today's tough on you. But just let yourself celebrate for them. Don't wallow. There are people who care about you. _I _care about you. The longer you stay in here, in the dark and the self-pity, the harder it will be to ever move again. And I'm not a fan of having to come and dig your bones out of here in a few years time. Just remember that we'll be downstairs waiting for you if and when you decide to come and be sociable."

Charlotte saw her mother bristle slightly when Lisbon began to walk across the room toward Patrick. Angela's hand instinctively reached out as Lisbon approached, but the brunette walked through it as if it were nothing more than air. Lisbon stopped just beside Patrick's makeshift bed,

"They really wouldn't be mad at you for trying to be alright today. For them." Lisbon bent down and touched her lips to the side of his head. Patrick did not noticeably shift, but Charlotte saw the finite twitch of his lips and his fingers curled slightly as he fought the urge to react to her touch.

"It's okay Dad," Charlotte whispered encouragingly. She caught her mother's eye. "Right Mom?"

Angela's smile was wistful as she watched the petite woman walk out of the attic and close the door behind her.

"Yes sweetheart, it's okay," she spoke gently, and Charlotte wasn't sure if she was talking to her or Patrick.

Charlotte had seen the way that her father and his boss had interacted. They were good for each other, complemented each other and worked well as a team. Charlotte even hoped, deep inside, that maybe one day they could be something more than friends.

"Go on, follow her, Dad. You need her; she needs you. We're both okay with it. Go!" Charlotte said, her hands flailing in urgent gestures. "Dad," her voice was rising with every word, despite the fact she knew her efforts were fruitless. "Dad, _please._"

"Charlotte, honey, please be quiet for your father. This is his Dark Day, this is how he wants it," Angela tried to calm her down. The teenager ignored her mother's comforts and stalked purposefully to stand by her father.

"NO," Charlotte shrieked, and her voice echoed around the small space. "I will NOT be quiet. This is OUR day. He has another Dark Day all to himself. That's the day for wallowing, for sadness. I hate that he tortures himself like this on our _special_ day. Why can't he just be happy Mom? I just want him to move on. I mean, sure, it's a nice gesture that he wants to avenge our deaths and be 'faithful' to us, but you and I both know that we don't care about that. We just want him to be happy, right? Why can't he just be happy?" A lone tear slipped out of Charlotte's eye and trailed slowly down her cheek as she ran out of steam. "That's all I want for my birthday."

"I know baby," Angela walked slowly over and put an arm around Charlotte as they turned their gazes back to the silent man in the room. "But this is his life. It's what he wants to do, and there's nothing we can do about it. We'll just be proud of him when he moves on, alright?"

Charlotte nodded slowly. "Okay Mom."

Silence fell over the small family like a blanket. After a moment, Charlotte spoke up.

"I love you Dad."

Her mother followed suit.

"I love you Patrick."

Their voices echoed each other as they bounced around the dingy attic. They watched as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye and left a trail in the small film of dust that had gathered there.

"Happy Birthday my loves," he whispered in the darkness. "I will make him pay."

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**So, what did you think? Turn out alright?**


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